Switching Cars

*They were tracking her tracking them.*

"Step away from the computer," the man repeated, the barrel of his weapon steady.

Elena stood up, her hands raised. She looked at the man. He wasn't police. He was wearing private security gear. *Guardian Protection Services.* The same company the Hawthornes paid a fortune to "protect" the estate.

He wasn't here to arrest her. He was here to contain her.

"I need to leave," Elena said, her voice shaking but her feet planted. "I have a medical condition."

The man didn't blink. "Mr. Hawthorne advised us of your... situation. He asked us to escort you to a secure location until the ambulance arrives."

"I don't need an ambulance. I need to go."

"I'm afraid that's not possible, ma'am. For your own safety."

He took a step forward.

Elena looked at the server rack. The blue lights blinking in the dark. The hard drive with the evidence was still plugged in. She couldn't take it. He would see it.

She needed a distraction.

She looked at the fire suppression system panel on the wall. A big red button behind a plastic case.

*In Case of Fire: Halon Gas Release.*

"Please," Elena said, backing towards the wall. "I think I'm going to be sick."

"Just stay calm," the guard said, reaching for his radio. "Dispatch, I have the subject. Secure in the basement."

Elena turned and slammed her elbow into the plastic case. It shattered.

She hit the button.

A klaxon screamed, deafening in the enclosed space. The vents overhead hissed open, and a thick, white fog began to pour into the room.

The guard coughed, waving his hand in front of his face. "Ma'am! Get down!"

Elena didn't get down. She grabbed the hard drive, ripping the cord from the port. She threw herself under the desk as the guard stumbled blindly toward the door, choking on the gas.

The room filled with white. She couldn't see anything. She crawled along the floor, following the line of the wall, feeling for the door frame.

She found it. She scrambled up the stairs, her lungs burning, bursting into the kitchen just as the alarm triggered the main house system.

Every light in the house flashed. Every siren wailed.

She ran out the side door, into the snow. She didn't look back. She ran for the tree line where Kai was waiting.

But Kai wasn't there.

The snow was trampled, the bushes broken.

And in the distance, she saw the taillights of a car speeding away.

He was gone. Or taken.

She was alone.

She ran to the road. She flagged down a passing car—a beat-up Honda Civic driven by a teenager who looked terrified when he saw a woman in a cocktail dress running out of the woods.

"Please," she gasped, banging on the window. "I need a ride. I'll pay you."

She pulled a wad of cash from her bra—the emergency money she had grabbed from the safe. Five hundred dollars.

The kid unlocked the door.

"Drive," she said, climbing in. "Just drive."

"Where to?"

"A rental car place. The cheapest one you know. Cash only."

He drove her to a sketchy lot in Yonkers. She bought a dented Toyota Corolla with the rest of the cash and a fake name she hadn't used since college.

She drove away, her hands gripping the wheel so tight her knuckles ached.

She was safe. For now.

But as she merged onto the highway, her heart hammering against her ribs, she looked in the rearview mirror.

A black SUV was two cars behind her.

She changed lanes.

It changed lanes.

She took the next exit.

It took the exit.

The fear that washed over her wasn't hot. It was cold. Absolute zero.

She wasn't the hunter anymore. She wasn't even the prey.

She was no longer the CFO. She was a fugitive in her own life.